


Bouncy and The Pirate

by CrashTrash



Series: Bouncy and The Pirate [1]
Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Gastown, Gastown races, Imprisonment, M/M, OCs - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleplay adaptation, warboy - Freeform, wasteland tribe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashTrash/pseuds/CrashTrash
Summary: How could Pittonii have known that a marketplace thief would also steal his heart?





	1. Dogwood

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to [imperator-ryan](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/imperator-ryan) on tumblr for writing this with me!

     As he approached the large gates of Gastown, Pittonii stopped to catch his breath. It wasn’t a very pleasant smell with the mounds of worthless scrap and garbage he was standing on, but it was enough to push him past the doors and into the settlement. His prosthetics padded along the densely-packed sand underneath him as he made his way towards the marketplace. Grubby, scrawny children squealed when they saw him. As they ran alongside him, they shouted, “Bouncy’s back! Bouncy man!” while trying to keep up with his fast gait. Their small hands were reaching out diligently to touch his strange metal legs. Pittonii chuckled and gave them each a pat on the head. They followed behind him as he walked the streets carrying his large pack filled with junk.

     The marketplace was busy, as usual, with vendors screaming for attention and the smell of sweaty bodies squeezing around each other in the throng strong in the tribesman’s nose. He reached the small stand where he would trade his scavenged wasteland scrap for food or other items to bring back to his family, the Hookerii.

     The engine of a big rig growled as it rolled into Gastown. Many people took one look at the pink and blue muscle car and pulled their guns or children closer. Zombi parked the vehicle and climbed out. He stretched his back and neck with a grunt before running greasy fingers though his hot pink hair, smearing it with streaks of black. The Warboy began to make his way to the marketplace with his gravestone mallet attached to his back. Because the large stone weapon was feared by many in Gastown, as he walked the crowds parted for the large man.

     The tribesman looked concerned as the people who had been looking at his wares suddenly started to drift away from the marketplace. Others went silent and stopped moving. Even the children that had been roughhousing near the junkpiles had gone quiet and were now huddling behind Pittonii’s legs, cowering with fear. He was about to ask them what was wrong when he finally noticed the large, brightly-colored rig and heard heavy footsteps on the sand. His light brown eyes widened when he saw the Warboy walking towards the marketplace and it all made sense. He was extremely intimidating, especially with his flashy hair and that large mallet. Pittonii could feel his chest begin to ache with apprehension as he watched the man come closer.

     Zombi couldn’t help but grin at the people’s distress. They knew who he served, but Zombi wasn’t here to fight. No… He just wanted to enjoy the twinkling Outcrier’s races. Of course, he still enjoyed the fear. There was hardly a better feeling than the feeling of dominance and control over others. Being a Top Dog was extremely useful for fueling his need to instill fear and gain respect. Being in control of his squadron of Warboys was empowering, but as of right now, he was only interested in finding something in the marketplace. Zombi adjusted the machete on his right hip and put a hand on the bottle of rum that hung on his left. Walking over to Pittonii’s stand, he began looking over the items.

     Pittonii’s initial fear of the man was overcome by a strange sense of curiosity when the large man began perusing his wares instead of giving him the usual Wasteland Welcome of knocking his teeth out. His eyes followed where he was looking and soon the ache in his chest dulled. A smile graced his lips as he looked up at the man. His voice was soft as he didn’t want to provoke him, “Do you see something you like?” Behind him he could feel the quivering of the children who were grasping onto his legs. They were extremely terrified, but Pittonii shook off the feeling of worry. If this man was feared by many he must have power, and where there was power there was money. Perhaps this man would buy something?

     Zombi looked up to the man speaking. As he locked eyes with Pittonii, the tribesman could see that the Warboy had one blue eye while the other eye was clouded white and lifeless. Despite the warpaint on his face, it was easy to see that there was a scar going over the dead eye. “Got any wood?” The Warboy asked as he looked down at the other.

     Pittonii raised an eyebrow at the man, “Wood? Like from a tree?” He was astonished at the question but nodded as he removed his large backpack and rummaged through it. From the pack he produced two pieces of dried up wood and one small whittled piece reminiscent of a dog. “I’ve got these. Found them in the Flatlands. Very rare.” The wood looked well enough save for the spots where it was clear they had been covered with sand longer than the other side, half bleached by the scorching sun.

     The tribesman watched as the Warboy looked over the pieces of wood, running his blackened fingers over them. He was tempted to ask him not to smear the surface with grease, as it was hard to find good wood nowadays, but thought against it after eyeing the mallet on the large man’s back. Staying silent for a while longer, Zombi picked up the dog-shaped wood. ‘What a waste of wood.’ The Warboy sneered and looked up at the other man again and looked him over carefully. The salesman didn’t look tough at all. He scoffed then grabbed both pieces of wood and began to walk away.

     Pittonii gasped in shock that immediately turned into anger as he felt his blood pumping. “H-HEY-!” He rushed from the stand and easily got in front of the Warboy, glaring up at him. “Give them back if you won’t pay!” He was trying to be intimidating but it was certainly having the opposite effect given that his glare looked more like a pout and that the way he gripped his hands at his sides conveyed his nervousness. Again, his chest began to ache as he willed himself to stop quivering. He stood there before the man and waited, his resolve becoming weaker every second he was glared down at, making him feel smaller and smaller.

     Zombi blinked and was surprised to see the man in front of him so fast. Raising a brow, Zombi looked down and huffed. He then noticed that the man’s legs were missing only to be replaced with strange metal pieces. ‘Peg leg.’ He couldn’t help but laugh at the way the man tried to intimidate him. Zombi smirked, showing off slightly jagged teeth, “Get out me way ya’ little peggy leg. Go play in the sand box!” He laughed and easily pushed the salesman out of his way and headed back to his brightly colored rig.

     ‘What in the wastes is a peggy leg??’ Pittonii was caught off-guard by the strange words but when he was pushed down he growled. No one would steal from him if he had anything to say about it! With determination, he got back up and dashed after the man, quickly catching up to him. Using his strong thigh muscles and prosthetics to spring into the air, he landed hard on the man’s broad shoulders with enough force to push him onto the ground. He gripped the man’s hair and pulled, “Just who’s a peggy leggy?! Gimme my wood ya dinki-di drongo!”

     The Wastelander’s large bounce caught Zombi off guard and he landed on the ground with a heavy thud. The pull on his hair would have felt good if rage hadn’t overcome the Warboy. With a snarl Zombi headbutted the man to get him off his back and grabbed his mallet from its sling. He swung the deadly weapon, clipping Pittonii in the chest, and sent him crashing to the hard ground. Zombi stood up and snarled at the tribesman, “Smeg!” He stalked off to his rig, wood in hand, and drove off.


	2. Run An' Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pittonii enters a mysterious game in hopes of receiving a prize worth what had been stolen from him. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: The use of the term 'boy' in this chapter does not reflect the actual age of the characters in this story. Both characters in this story are over 18 years old.

The darkness surrounding Pittonii was broken by the touches of small hands over his chest, startling him awake. He stared up at the concerned, tear-filled eyes of the Gastown children surrounding him. He groaned as he slowly sat up. His chest was heaving as pain shook his entire body, especially his head. He reached a shaking hand to his forehead where his fingers came back bloodied. As his head spun, he couldn’t help but curse. The damn warboy had gotten away with his wood and beaten him up! After laying there for a few more minutes, Pittonii struggled to his feet, albeit wobbly and hardly able to walk straight, but somehow managed to get back to his stand. When he got back, he realized that everything was gone. He had been robbed TWICE.

The tribesman had never felt more disgraced and ashamed. He should have just let the man take the wood instead of fighting! Now he had nothing. He dismissed the children, who reluctantly left him as he sat in a divot under his stand. He sniffled as he wiped his forehead with his hand, the blood smearing across it almost resembling war paint. He gathered the bare remnants of his things. What remained were two rusty screws, the wooden dog, and a tiny cactus growing from inside a snake skull. He sighed and placed them in his backpack before making his way back towards the Gastown gates. Before he could sulk back into the Wastes, however, he spotted a small sign advertising a prize for winning the pre-race game called the Run an Go. He had never heard of the game, but anything having to do with running he knew he could do well. He followed the directions on the sign to a dilapidated lean-to and ducked inside. 

Meanwhile, Zombi was sitting in the garage of Gastown applying the wood he had gotten (stolen) to the front of his rig. Pleased with the new wood, he popped into his car and grabbed more of the spray paint he always kept with him. With a huff, Zombi went to take a drink of his rum. He growled at finding it empty and threw the bottle. The weary glass cracked on a broken car part that was jutting out of the ground. The sound echoed in the cavernous garage like a thundercrack. Fun. While destruction was certainly therapeutic, he absolutely hated being without his rum. 

After he finished grumbling over the loss of his rum, Zombi decided that it was time to do what he’d come to Gastown to do in the first place. He huffed as he got out of his rig. He then made his way up to the Outcrier’s nameboard and signed up for the race that night. Even though the races were a deadly affair, it was all shits and giggles for Zombie. He knew Stank wouldn’t care if he entered the races. Hell, Stank was a champion of the races himself! Once his name was messily scrawled onto the board, Zombi made his way back towards the garage. 

 

\----

 

The crowds were already booming, and it was still an hour before the races began. From above the masses came the booming, charismatic voice of the Outcrier. He laughed and greeted everyone before he began his spiel, “We’ve got a new game for all of you tonight-! The game’s called Run an’ Go! Enjoy!” The gated doors to the arena were pulled open and Pittonii was shoved inside. He was soon joined by six other people in the arena. He gulped as he looked up at the crowds of people cheering and screaming. He felt so small and afraid. They hadn’t told him what the hell the game was even supposed to be. His fears were only confirmed when the gates opposite him were opened and a pack of feral dingos were released into the arena. He screamed and ran for his life as the wild dogs gave chase. 

Zombi was sitting in the crowd with a few other members of Stank Gum’s fleet, laughing and watching as the people in the arena ran for their lives. He soon recognized Pittonii and couldn’t help bursting into an even louder round of cackling. Well he was glad he hadn’t kill him after all! Now he had the privilege of watching the boy get ripped apart! As the game progressed, Zombi thought about it and frowned slightly, his laughter having already died down. While he really wanted to watch the boy be ripped to pieces, he also wanted to bet on him now! His prosthetic legs somehow weren't falling apart as the boy ran around the arena avoiding the dog pack- he was actually winning! Zombi loved the look on Outcrier’s face when he had to pay up… ‘Perhaps betting on a peggy leg might be useful.’ He got up and rushed to the betting booth where he placed a large chunk of scrap on Pittonii, aka. Chow #2. 

Screams of agony mixed with snarls and howls as most of the other ‘participants’ were ripped to shreds by the wild dogs. They might as well have been called sacrifices with the predictable outcome of such a rigged game. Pittonii was crying as he ran in circles around the arena. His chest was hurting badly, heart pounding against his ribs, and his head was scraping the last bit of his sanity into keeping him awake and alert. His prosthetics were the only thing keeping the dogs away as he ran just a hair faster than them, keeping a safe distance from their feral jaws. The bloody, chewed-up remains of other runners were now just obstacles for him to leap over as he tried desperately to keep the dogs away. One bite from a frothing dingo’s maw would certainly kill him. 

Soon the last of the remaining participants were dead and it was just Pittonii left. Him and five hungry, feral dingos. Two ran at him and he knew he had to act fast. He flipped himself down onto the ground quickly, using his legs like a kangaroo to kick the dogs square in the snouts, sending them flying back. One of their skulls was caved in with the force of the kick and the other’s body simply crumpled onto its side. Scrambling back up, Pittonii jumped high and landed on another dog’s back, feeling and hearing its spine snap. The last two dogs seemed to know better and whined softly, circling Pittonii but not coming any closer, eventually settling down into the dirt and panting. The smell of blood stung his nose and the taste of iron in his throat was suffocating. The boy was trembling, tears streaking his bloodied cheeks…and the crowd went crazy.

Zombi cheered loud with the crowd as he watched the boy crush the dingo’s heads in. Fuck, he loved winning bets! All thanks to the little peggy leg! The roaring of the crowd was practically deafening and yet Zombi could still hear some of the others cursing at their lost bets. He hollered to no one in particular, “I KNEW that little peggy leg was worth something!” He laughed as he exited his seat to collect his prizes. 

Once the remaining dogs were cleared out, a Warboy gripped Pittonii’s wrists hard behind his back. He squeaked and tried to wriggle out of the grip, but he couldn’t budge from the strong Warboy's grip. He was dragged to his feet and led up to the stand where the Outcrier was. The man was practically vibrating with excitement as the Lectricy boy behind him fed electricity to his jacket, making the bulbs burn brightly. The lights stunned Pittonii and he winced away from them. Outcrier laughed and looked to the man in the Warboy’s grip. He pulled a wide, yellow-toothed grin, “Hahaha-! You’ve won the game, but your true prize comes after the race!” Pittonii was confused and opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about but before he could, he was shoved into a large cage. The platform they were on began to lift itself higher above the ground as he was put on display for all to see. “And this lovely, lucky lad will be given to the winner of tonight’s race!”

Zombi’s eyes went wide hearing the Outcrier’s declaration. ‘Oh, this is just perfect.’ Zombi eyed the tribesman inside the cage and laughed, “The boy's as good as mine.” Zombi muttered under his breath, his lips pulled into a cocksure grin. He felt a punch on the arm by another Warboy, “Oi! Don’t get cocky again!” Zombi growled and “accidentally” shoved the other over the wall down into the arena. “Whoops-!” He laughed as the man struggled to climb back into the stands. 

Pittonii’s heart was pounding hard in his chest. Flashes of glowing red eyes and deep Russian mumbles making his entire body tremble. Those dark memories were trying to consume him again. He was trapped, captured like he had been many years ago. His breaths came in rapidly as he was on the brink of hyperventilation when suddenly the door to the cage was opened. Another warboy came in and grabbed his arms from outside the cage, keeping him in one place. All he could do was whine in the back of his throat and cry, afraid for his life, as he tried to buck and kick the warboy closing in on him. It was no use as he grabbed at Pittonii’s harness, ripping off his prosthetics and leaving him slumped there in the cage with the now-bruised and throbbing stumps of his legs exposed to the cool night air.

Seeing his legs in the grubby paws of Warboy’s made Pittonii’s eyes water. Those had been given to him by his brother- they were special, precious to him. He let out a pathetic choking sound from his throat. It was beginning to constrict in his terror, rendering him unable to speak. His stumps ached as he tried to move, managing to crawl to the edge of the cage. He reached out through the bars attempting to grab at his legs, but his arm wasn’t nearly long enough. Pressed helplessly against the bars, all he could do was watch as his legs were fought over by the scavenging Warboys. 

Zombi watched as the boy’s legs were removed with a sly grin. He climbed up the platform to retrieve them when he saw that they were just tossed to the side by the Outcrier. However, as he reached the platform, he saw other Warboys trying to make a dash for the abandoned legs. Their attempts were in vain as the only thing they came back with was Zombi’s mallet to the face before they could realize the danger they were in. Zombi turned and snarled at the others that had gathered around, making them back away slightly as he grabbed the discarded legs and looked over them. Besides a few splatters of blood and some scratches here and there, the prosthetics were intact. Zombi hoisted the heavy pair of metal legs under his arm and looked around menacingly, daring anyone else to try stealing the legs from him. 

A brave, or foolish, Wretched made a dash for the legs only for Zombi to hit him in the neck, snapping it back with a sharp crack. The body crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. Finally, the Warboys and Wretched alike backed away from the mallet-wielding Top Dog. He looked over at the helpless boy in the cage and went silent, watching him struggle. Zombi bit his lip and turned away, walking over to his rig. It had been placed in the lineup for the next event along with the other vehicles he'd be racing against. He would deal with the boy after he won the race. Zombi tossed the legs dismissively in the back of the rig for later. 

Pittonii was devastated as he was forced to watch as the same man who had beaten him into the dirt and stolen from him, throw his legs in the back of his rig. He crawled to the center of the cage and hugged his stumps close, curling as close as he could into a C shape. The sound of cheering dulled in his ears as he cried, only to come back in full force when the Outcrier announced the beginning of the night's race. 

Zombi drove his rig to the starting line as the Outcrier riled up the viewers. He grinned to himself as he looked over to the thunderpoon he had set in the seat next to him. He would be the one winning this, he’d make sure of that. 

The sounds of the engines roaring brought Pittonii back to reality. He sat up and leaned on the rails, watching the lineup rev their engines. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, the faint hint of blood still on his hands and face. If he was going to be given as a prize, he might as well watch the race to see who won him. Right? When the light turned green, Zombi hit his nitro boost, causing his brightly-colored rig to shoot forward. He was able to get in front of everyone as they all took off into the Gastrack, giving it all they had has the sounds of powerful engines and screams filled the air. 

Light brown eyes trailed the cars as Pittonii watched the vehicles tear up the track and each other to get ahead. Eventually, his eyes stopped at the rig in first place. His heart stopped. It was the same brightly-painted rig of the man who stole his wood and his legs. He let out a warbled cry in utter defeat. If that man won he would have stolen everything Pittonii had- including himself. Would he ever see the Hookerii again? His family? If he did…he doubted that they would welcome him back after a Warboy had his way with him. 

By the time all the cars were nearing the finish line, Zombi was neck and neck with two other rigs while the rest were either wrecked or their drivers eliminated. Snarling loudly, Zombi grabbed his thunderpoon and shoved it through the open driver’s side window. The tip of the thunderpoon caught a bit of rag dangling from the other rig and ignited it, causing the rig to explode in a sizzling flash. Before the other driver could react, his rig had become a ball of flame and lurched to the left, swerving directly into the last remaining vehicle. The burning wreckage of his opponents that were left in Zombi’s wake caused the crowd to roar and applaud. Zombi crossed the finishing line with ease and slipped out from his rig to give a bow. He laughed and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and basking in his victory. The heat at his back from the still-burning wreckage made his heart lurch with excitement. Zombi exhaled and opened his eyes, looking to the cage on the platform. 

 

The boy was his.


	3. Sandsea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombi claims his prize. Pittonii is given an offer he cannot refuse.

The Outcrier laughed and excitedly announced Zombi as the winner of the race, though it was clear that the minute the stands were empty that he was angry at his loss of that night’s game bets. The announcer grumbled and tugged along his Lectricy Boy in a hurry, leaving the tribesman alone to await his collection. 

Pittonii’s forehead hit the bars of the rusted cage. His fate was sealed. Soon more hands were on him as he was dragged from the cage onto the main stage, held aloft by two Warboys. Their dirty fingers were squeezing his arms tightly as he struggled, held in the air with by just his arms. Like a worm, he was wriggling until the familiar sound of heavy boots made him stop. Hanging limply, he looked up pitifully up at the man who had won the race.

Zombi still wore the spatter of his competitors’ blood on his face as he grinned devilishly at the boy. He roughly grabbed Pittonii by his hair, “I’ll take what’s mine.” He purred the words like a lion licking its chops before turning and dragging the boy to his rig. Pittonii gritted his teeth as he was drug, determined not to scream. When he was unceremoniously dumped into the back of the rig, his breaths beginning to become erratic. He was terrified. He started looking around for a way out, but the jostling of the rig forced him to stay low as to not fall off the seat. He clung to the rig for his life. Zombi must have known that the boy was powerless without his legs, which were now in front seat along with a second thunderpoon. 

The Warboy’s technicolored rig flew across the sands with ease, the man knowing the route by heart. In a show of power, he let off two bombs from the underside of his rig, causing massive quakes behind them. Zombi laughed and continued towards his destination. He eventually slowed down as they rolled into one of many Stank Gum patrol camps. Wheeling inside the camp’s garage, he eventually stopped the rig and the large Warboy climbed out. 

Pittonii was trembling as the rig rolled to a stop. The entire ride had made his stomach churn. Bumps in the road had caused him to jump and hit multiple objects that were already crowding him in the back seat. Clinging onto a loose panel, he watched the large man climb out of the rig, grateful that the ride was finally over, but still frightened of what the other would do to him now that he had him. He didn’t know what he wanted from him exactly, but he had a few ideas and none of them were pretty.

Grasping the boy’s legs in one hand, Zombi grabbed Pittonii by his hair once more and started dragging him out from the rig. Now he was panicked, trying with all his strength to wriggle out of the man’s steel-trap grip. His head hurt badly not only from the earlier headbutt but now from his hair feeling like it was being ripped from his scalp. He growled and writhed, like a feral animal, trying to escape. It was worse when he realized the nearby Warboys were laughing and gawking at him. He felt like a raggedy dinki-di drug in from the wastes to be made fun of. Many of the camp’s Warboys made obnoxious hissing and jeers towards Pittonii, eventually watching them both disappear into Zombi’s private chambers. 

Zombi closed the door behind him and threw the boy onto his bed, his mismatched eyes watching him closely. Despite what he’d presented to his fellow Warboy’s, he wouldn’t force himself on the boy. He didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle. Zombi stayed quiet as he watched the legless boy struggle to right himself on the bed, “Looks like Mr. Peggy Leggy is useless without his peggys.” He chuckled. 

Pittonii quickly crawled towards the wall so that he couldn’t be snuck up on, his wide brown eyes staring at the man in front of him. Even though he was scared out of his mind, he still spoke back with venom, “No thanks to you and the sods in Gastown.” He looked around the room, trying to find a way to escape but found no path that he could use without his legs. The Warboy was simply too large to get around, his body blocking the only possible exit. Looking down at his stumps, the exposed flesh was now dirty and bruised. Pittonii whined softly and bent to run his hands over the sensitive nubs. The ache was always there but now it was tenfold. 

Zombi huffed and tossed the metal legs to the ground. They gave a loud clank before settling with a metallic scrape. “I’ll let you go, but only on one condition. You bring me more wood.” Zombi huffed, crossing his large arms over his broad chest. It didn’t seem like much, but it was important to him. “My ship needs more wood and I know you know where to find more of it.”

The tribesman looked up warily at the Warboy. He was confused but grateful as he scrambled off the bed for his legs. “Y-Yeah, okay.” If he could go and was not held prisoner, Pittonii would do anything. On the floor now, he reattached his legs and sighed, feeling the familiar weight of the metal cupping his thighs. Standing up, he backed up, his lips pursed. He knew he shouldn’t have asked the question, but it came out before he could stop himself, “How do you know I will come back?”

“Because if you don’t, me and my boys will gut your entire clan starting with your family.” Zombi growled, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he glared at the boy. He knew he was taking a big risk for a chance at more wood, but he felt he had intimidated the boy enough to trust him to return. “My ship needs more wood. She’s nowhere near complete. It’s your job to help me finish her build.”

Pittonii gulped hard, nodding his head. He wouldn’t put it past this guy to make sure he came back. While he understood that the man wanted more wood, he wasn’t understanding why. He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing as he pouted, “…are ya saying shit? What shit needs more wood?” He was a bit confused. Warboys built with metal and fire- not wood. What the hell could he possibly need all the wood for?

“My ship!” Zombi snarled and slapped the boy upside the head. “She’s my pride and joy! I’ll rule the sandsea with her!” Zombi huffed with exasperation. Of course, no one knew what he was talking about. His fellow Top Dogs thought him daft for building with wood, but he would show them! He would show them all! 

Pitt whined and rubbed his aching head, “P-please stop doing that…” he spoke mostly to himself. Then he paused, “...the sand what? Sea? No water ever out there, only way to sail anything is with a sand glider. An’ what’s a ship?” He was slowly becoming less afraid and more confused by the larger man. 

“These lands used to be covered by water before the world fell. They called them the Seven Seas. Trade routes they were, like we got now, but they would use ships to sail them ‘stead of rigs to ride on ‘em.” It didn’t surprise Zombi the boy didn’t know what the sea was. Though he wasn’t fully sure himself sometimes, he had a better idea than most about the sea. He’d heard the tales and saw the pictures on the walls. He knew the seas! 

“My ship is what you land-lovers call my rig.” He motioned vaguely in the direction of the garage where his brightly-colored rig was parked. He hated trying to explain himself all the time to others. They never understood and always ridiculed him and his aspirations. He smiled as he watched the boy begin to take interest, “It was covered with water?” It seemed he was astonished to hear such a thing. 

“Water used to cover the whole world, mate!” Zombi stretched his arms wide to mimic the horizon. “Yes, she needs more wood…” Zombi smiled more as he thought of how pretty his ship would look sailing the sands, “She needs more power. I can’t rule the seas if she’s only half together!” 

The passionate way the Warboy spoke intrigued Pittonii and he again tilted his head inquisitively, looking up at him, “...I guess I am a land-lover…I’ve never been fond of too much water.” He shuffled a bit on the lumpy mattress underneath him. The talk of water brought back memories of his inability to swim. It had been discovered when he attempted to swim in a fully-filled basin when he was young. He had to be drug out of the soiled water before he drowned. Swimming had come easily to the other children, but Pitt just didn’t get how they were able to do it, even with his paddle-feet. “Your rig’s a ship then? So that’s why you want wood…” It all clicked in his head now. 

For a moment Pittonii had forgotten that his life and family were threatened as he smiled softly at the man. His passion was infectious, but it couldn’t stave off the memory of Pittonii’s plight forever and he pouted again. “W-well…then I’ll bring you wood. Could I ask for food in exchange?” That was what he had come to Gastown for in the first place, before all this mess had occurred. 

The larger man stopped in his tracks at Pittonii’s question and bit his lip in thought. He gave a gruff hum, “Alright, but only for you. I’m not gonna feed your whole damn clan.” Zombi huffed and sat down heavily on the bed, now looking up at the Tribesman, who had slowly been scooting closer to the door during the Warboy’s ship talk. The Top Dog was still imposing even when he was now a head shorter than the other. 

Of course, Pittonii understood, though the food still wouldn’t be eaten by just him. No matter how little it was, he would bring it back to his family. He nodded, then turned to leave as quickly as his metal legs could carry him. He bolted from the compound, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. He had even been too fast for the Warboys trying to catch him and made it out in one piece. 

Zombi chuckled as he watched him go from the watch tower’s balcony. He wasn’t surprised at how eagerly the boy left the camp. He knew he’d come back soon with the wood he’d promised. He had a good reason to return, anyway. Food was a major resource now and Stank Gum didn’t skimp on his men. 

The Warboy watched as the dust cloud behind the boy disappeared over a large sand dune and smirked. The boy would come back, he had too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
